Dad worked from a home office my entire life. He was the parent who delivered forgotten lunches, offered rides to school friends when it rained and was chief of my Indian Guides tribe. Having a dad who chaperoned field trips was not the norm in 1975, but it’s made me the man I am today.
The shared experience of marriage fostered a closeness between us which didn’t exist in my youth. After my daughters were born, Dad and I had even more to talk about. From my early thirties until his death four years ago, Dad and I spoke on the phone with increasing frequency. We didn’t need a reason. It was just something we did. Like breathing or walking the dog.
This was the good stuff, he said. The diapers, crying and 3 a.m. bottles were nothing compared to the joy of teaching children to walk, tie their shoes, and ride bikes. Being a dad is the best thing in the world.
Unfortunately, this was not the experience my Dad had with his own father. Grandpa Rogers was a hard-drinking lumberjack from the backwoods of Montana. He would disappear for weeks to cut trees in the forest, leaving my father to fill the parenting role for his three sisters.
As a son, husband and father, I now realize the lack of my Grandpa’s presence in my father’s life was a huge disappointment that my dad worked to avoid with his own children. I feel incredibly grateful for the close relationship we had and have followed his example with my own children.
June 16 is Father’s Day. Make sure to call your dad.